


A Weekend with the Man in the Suit

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:00:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: prompt: after Shaw comes back. their new mission/number requires undercover work as a couple and instead of asking Shaw, Root asks John. Shaw's reaction</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Weekend with the Man in the Suit

_It’s only dinner_ , Root thinks to herself, thoughts buzzing like bees on crack in her cluttered head.  _And a hotel room. And maybe a little touching._

One of the bees sting her hard in the temple, leaving behind the precursor to a headache.  _Okay, it’s only a weekend. Just a weekend._ She presses the thought upon herself, mustering will power from every corner.  _You can handle one weekend._

The hard part would be breaking it to Shaw.

Root can see it now, the vision cloudy with dread, Shaw’s concentrated contempt. The sneer. The spite. It’s the last thing Root wants in a reaction- especially from Sameen.  _But how do you break a ‘couples’ mission to someone lightly? How do you convince someone that going to a couple’s retreat together is the logical and sane thing to do?_

_You don’t. You can’t._

Feverish worry winds its fingers around Root’s heart, squeezing until she thinks she might explode. Their newest number, Joseph DeRouge, is the manager at a couples retreat in upstate New York. His record is spotless- he hadn’t missed a single day’s work in eight years, not even for vacation. All signs point to a man who is truly in love with his work. A man who would do anything for the sake of his employees and customers.  _So how better to get close to him than be a customer?_

Root’s plan itself was flawless, simple enough to be elegantly complex; however, one hole still sat at its core like an abyss: couple means two.  _Me plus one._

The plus one leaves her more uncertain than any aspect of the mission. It’s worse than being shot at and more harrowing than playing chicken on the edge of a building.

 _Shaw is going to_ hate _this._

* * *

 

As Root slips into the subway station, she treads with cautious steps, each potentially able to set off a land mine. He heart is a jackhammer as it tears apart her chest, and her breath is held nervously. She wipes her almost clammy hands down the sides of her black jeans. Each step she takes becomes slower, until she’s decelerated so much that she’ll be walking in reverse if she slows any more. Her chest is tight and fingers numb.

_It’s only a weekend. Just one weekend. How mad can she be over two days?_

Entering the yellow-lit terminal that hums with electricity, her heels hit the ground like sonic booms. Her heart leaps to her throat at the sound, but she swallows it with a smile. Putting on a confident front, she pushes her dark hair behind one shoulder, striding to their terminal’s lone bench with a purposeful air, all the while trying to keep her knees from knocking. She can only hope she’s doing well to act the part.

The closer she becomes, the more John Reese and Sameen Shaw come into Root’s vision. Their lips move every few seconds- short bursts of conversation between two people that would rather keep quiet.

“Hey,  _kids_ ,” Root greets from behind, exuberant smile on her face as the two turn around to look at her. She leans her hands on the top of the bench, each squaring up with one of the Mayhem Twin’s shoulders. Peering Shaw’s way, she can see the neutral hold of her face, the slight tightness in her lips, and the annoyance mixed with attentiveness mixing in her eyes. John gives her a small, quick smile and eyes that show she has his attention- mostly.

“What do want, Root?” Shaw asks, voice not irritated, but ready to get to the point. Root can’t help but feel the flutter of her heart in her chest as she tries to suppress a smile in vain.

“We have a new number up in Saranac Lake. The guy lives and breathes his hotel, so I need a date for the weekend.”  _This is where it gets bad_ , Root’s mind all but shrieks.  _Everything turns to turmoil here._

Shaw rumbles with a short, disbelieving and semi-contemptuous laughter as she gives her head the slightest shake.

“There’s no way in  _H_ -”

“Sorry, Sweetie,” Root says, cutting Shaw off with a syrup-sweet voice laced in sympathy. “But I’m actually here to enlist  _John’s_  help.” Root watches Shaw’s malicious glare dissolve into surprise. Her lips remain pressed together, fingers tightening minutely on the edge of the bench, as she stares at Root blankly. Then, it begins to gain heat- it becomes stifling. Trying to figure her out. Waiting for the punch line.  _Something_.

This is exactly what Root had been dreading all morning. This reaction. Shaw’s reaction. She couldn’t be sure how Shaw would take it, but Root knew for a fact that it wouldn’t be good- let alone gracious. Unable to stand Shaw’s now-smoldering glare a moment longer, Root turns her full attention on John.

“What do you say?” She asks with a cunning smile. “You in?” Reese looks her over a minute, as if he almost understands her reasoning, then nods.

“Let’s go.”

“ _Him_?” Shaw asks at last, voice harsh and not exactly comprehensive. “You’re taking  _him_?”

“What’s wrong with  _me_ , Shaw?” John asks, coming to his own defense in a way that takes the pressure from Root. Silently, she thanks him. “I’m not good enough for a date?”

“A can of  _beans_  would do better,” she counters dryly, teeth grinding as she juts her jaw out angrily. Ripping her eyes from John, they connect forcefully with Root’s. _Well?_  They say.

“He’ll be more believable,” Root tells her apologetically, hating the way Shaw’s eyes narrow at her. In all honestly, it isn’t the reason why- it couldn’t be farther from the truth.

The truth is that Root  _can’t_  take her. She thinks to the last time she asked for Shaw’s help. January 6, 2015. The day the stock market took a devastating plummet before rising back up a few hours later. The day they were set to infiltrate Samaritan’s systems. The day Shaw came to their aide, just to throw herself to the wolves for their sakes. Root’s vision flashes with images of Shaw being shot down, of her locking the elevator door from the outside, of her bleeding out on the ground as Martine Rousseau held a gun at her head. The sharp knife of memory stabs into her chest, reminding her of the feeling. The feeling of her nails digging into the elevator’s metal gating, the feeling of her stomach dropping to the iciest place in Hell as she watched- helpless- Shaw become target practice. The feeling of Shaw’s hands on her upper arms and Shaw’s lips on hers. Like it was a final goodbye. A last stand. The beginning of the end.

 _No_ , Root thinks to herself,  _I can’t take her. I can’t ask her to get into danger again. Not for me._

Shaw’s lips are parted like she might spit a fiery retort, but they are frozen in place as she comes up blank. Sneering, she rolls her eyes and stands.

“Have fun on your little vacation,” she tells them both icily, although her fatal gaze rests longest on Root. “I’ll find Lionel; see if we can get some  _real_  work done.” With that, she gives her neck a swift- tension relieving roll- and heads towards the exit, swiping her weapon off Harold’s desk forcefully as she goes.

Root watches, stunned, using the bench for support now more than ever. As many times as she’d ran the scenarios of Shaw’s reaction in her head, this actual outcome leaves her woozy.

“You ready to go?” John asks, voice loud in her ear, but the words themselves mumbled and strung together from the wad of cotton unravelling in her head. Still looking towards the terminal exit, she gives him a numb nod.

_________\ If Your Number’s Up /_________

The drive was long and somewhat silent. Root relayed her plan of attack- John saying seldom words and nodding in agreement for most- and music played softly from the radio to pass the time. Root listened in on her earwig for any commotion, but almost nothing came up. A couple quick questions from Harold, two fake IDs for the mission per Root’s request, and agonizing silence after. Shaw either had nothing to say or was not in the saying mood, for Root didn’t hear a peep out of her the entire trip. She was more than sure Shaw had to have at least one of them bugged, but that didn’t get her to add any input over the coms. In fact, Shaw’s entire presence was compiled into nothing more than radio silence. Root considered checking in a few times on their way to the resort, but decided against it each time.  _What would I have to say anyway?_

Now, with the car parked, bags brought up the suite, and target already blue jacked, Root and Reese sit at a quaint table for two, eating dinner in dominating silence.  _This isn’t the plan_ , Root thinks to herself.  _The plan is to act like a couple._  As much as she knows their current behavior could get them made, she is too preoccupied to suggest it. Her mind rests on Shaw. Where she could be, why she hasn’t called anyone, and on a scale of one to Hulk, how furious is she?

“Root?  _Root_ ,” Root is snapped out of her thought by John’s concerned voice. He’s leaning into the table, sharp blue eyes studying her. “What’s wrong?” Root tries to give him a smile, but the motion barely makes it to her lips.

“Just trying to figure out the sleeping arrangement,” she answers him, eyes glowing earnestly.

“I already told you I’d take the couch,” he reminds her. His eyes turn curiously, waiting for her to respond.

“Well, what if we don’t  _have_  a couch,” she counters, and he purses his lips slightly.

“We both  _saw_  the  _couch_ ,” he points out.  _Shit_ , she thinks, scolding herself as she remembers it. The two had an entire, spirit lifting conversation on the atrocity that was the color palate. “So what’s  _really_  bothering you.”

“Ever want to keep someone safe?” She asks.

John nods.

“Ever wonder if you can’t?”

He nods again. “Don’t worry,” John tells her, low voice sincere. “We’ll help this guy.” Root nods shortly, then looks down at her plate, suddenly losing her appetite. She doesn’t want to tell him what’s on her mind; but in the same token, wishes he understood that she isn’t talking about their number. “You’re doing good by her, too.”

Root looks up, eyes met with the smallest of understanding smiles on John’s lips. Then, clearing his throat, he leans back in his chair. Looks around. “Pretty boring place, huh?” He asks.

Peering about, Root notices just how empty the resort’s restaurant is. Only one other couple sits at a table across the room, and the waiters all huddle in back corners, young faces bathed in pale blue light as they play with their phones. Root raises her eyebrows in agreement.

“I saw a pretty nice bar on the way here,” he comments casually. “They had a dance floor.” Root smiles a little, heavy storm clouds starting to part.

“I don’t dance,” she responds to him humorously.

“Wasn’t talking about  _you_ ,” he jokes back, standing. Root licks her bottom lip, part of her saying she shouldn’t let go of her guilt so easily. But with the promise of drinks and John Reese and forgetting, she gets up, smooths down the dress she wore for the cover, and walks at John’s lead from the hall.

___________\ We’ll Find You /____________

 _If Root thinks she can just run off on a mission without me, she’s dead wrong._ Tired and irritable, Shaw slugs down a shot of the strongest caffeine concoction the resort has to offer, all but throwing her car keys at the bell boy. She’d spent Friday afternoon furious, and Friday night determined. Driving through the night- and hitting traffic for God knows why- Shaw made the trek in six hours.  _Just in time for Saturday morning to begin._

Walking through the glass doors, Shaw is greeted almost at once by a lanky man of about forty. His hair is already turing silver with stress, and there are bags at his under-eyes. However, he notices none of this, his smile wide, stride energetic, and green eyes lively.

“Hello!” He greets her warmly. “I’m Joseph. Joseph DeRouge. Feel free to call me Joe, Joey- anything  _except_  Mr. DeRouge is preferable. How may I help you today?” Shaw musters up a cheery front, although she wants nothing more than to frown tactlessly his way.

“Hi, yes, I’m Sameen Hunt. My manager called you yesterday to tell you I was transferring here for the weekend?”

“Ah, yes!” He responds, radiating life. “Mr. Crane. Wonderful man. Well, your shift starts in ten minutes. Women’s locker room is to your left, there are spare uniforms in there. If you need  _anything_ , you let me know, okay?” Shaw, swallowing down the bile she feels at this man’s cheery disposition, nods with a smile.

Bringing a hand to either of her shoulders, he stoops down to look her in the eyes seriously. “You have the most  _beautiful_  smile!” He gushes. Shaw is afraid he is going to go on; however, as new guests arrive he settles for patting her shoulders briefly.

“Hello!” He yells out to them adoringly, leaving Shaw behind. “I’m Joseph DeRouge. You can call me…”

Shaw slips away before she can here more, escaping into the half filled locker room.

“Only threat _I_ see is sleep deprivation,” Shaw comments into her ear wig, grabbing a burgundy dress from the closet, along with a white, waist-only apron and undershorts.

“If it is that slow of a mission, why do you need to assist them, Miss. Shaw?” Harold asks warily. He’d tried to talk her out of it, failed, then commenced assisting her with the operation. All under Root and Reese’s noses. In fact, she’d been sure to keep a private line with Harold since yesterday, and is planning on keeping them in the dark for a little bit longer.

“You have any  _better_  ideas?” Shaw asks, dressing quickly.

“ _Yes_ , which I  _told_  you about yesterd-” Shaw shuts the ear wig off, too tired to hear Harold out. The caffeine finally kicks in as she ties white tennis shoes to her feet, stuffing her old clothes in an empty locker and storing her gun in the notebook pocket of her apron.

Pulling her hair into a tight ponytail, she heads back into the hotel, stopped only once by a fellow waitress who hands her a filled tray, finished with her shift.

“Martini is for the woman in the green bathing suit at the indoor pool; beer is for the lady to her right. Just handout the rest to whoever.” By the time the lady leaves, Shaw is already wandering, looking down every corridor for a threat. And Root.

 _We work together_ , Shaw fumes between gritted teeth.  _Like_ Hell _if she thinks she can just get rid of me._

Stepping through the large double doors at the back of the resort, Shaw is greeted by a large, glass inclosed space spanning at least three football fields in each direction. Two large pools, three tiki bars, and the entire back end filled with sand and set up with volleyball nets. In the throng, Shaw spots at least ten different women in green bathing suits.

As her eyes scan the crowd, the doors reopen to her right, and none other than Joseph DeRouge walks briskly past her and up to the tiki bar. He speaks animatedly with the bartender about something just out of earshot. Just as Shaw creeps closer, she sees the bartender hand over a wad of cash grudgingly. Joseph gives the barkeep his signature smile, one that now appears oily, and walks away. Taking a picture of the man behind the counter, Shaw sends it to Harold along with the message,  _‘possible threat.’_

Stowing her phone away, Shaw looks around once more. The noise from the beefed up sun room is overwhelming, swallowing Shaw up and disorienting her. Just as she turns to leave, quick sweep nearly done, she freezes, eyes impossibly dialing in on familiar dark hair. She takes two steps closer.

It’s still hard to make out, but something in her gut is sure it’s Root. Root lounging back in a beach chair, smiling at someone approaching. She takes him in- his short cut, more-pepper-than-salt hair and tall stature. He’s down a black blazer and up two drinks. He’s John Reese.

Root sits up a little, smile growing as John stoops down, handing her one of the glasses. He says something that Root can’t quite hear. John comes in closer, mouth at her ear as he says it again. Root nods, and he takes a seat on the chair to her right. For some reason, the transaction sends fury to Shaw’s bones as her blood begins to boil.

Stalking forward, she drops the tray off at the nearest empty table, swiping a martini before continuing her course.

“Hey, we didn’t order this!” One kid, barely able to pass for a day over twenty-one, calls after her. She ignores him, eyes like daggers as they pierce into Root and John.

Shaw comes within twenty feet, where she can clearly identify them both. John sits with his back turned slightly to Root as he talks to an elderly man at his side, more than likely to gather intel from a long-standing customer.

Root takes a swig of her drink, eyes undoubtedly scanning over every vacationer in her sight behind large sunglasses. She rolls her neck once, dark brown hair rippling down her back like a waterfall, before she slips a white pool cardigan from off her shoulders. Shaw stops her approach as the sheer jacket gives way to smooth skin and toned muscles, broken only by a dark purple bikini. Shaw reminds herself of her anger before approaching the two stealthily from behind. Root doesn’t even notice as Shaw comes to a halt at the left corner of her chair, the sound of the large area acting as a mask for Shaw.  _It helps that she’s not expecting me here._

Every witty comment and harsh intro Shaw had thought up on the way here disappears, slips entirely from her brain as her mind begins to lose control of where her eyes travel. Finally, she takes in a large gulp on the martini at hand. She nearly gags at its repulsive tang, swallowing it down and pulling a face. Unsure what to do with the sorry excuse of a drink, she looks around, then pours it out.

On Root.

Root jumps, sucking in a startled breath as the icy liquid splashes against her skin. Her head snaps Shaw’s way only to stop, tilting to the side in disbelief as she takes Shaw in, who holds the upturned glass in her hand like a smoking gun.

“Oops,” Shaw says, showing not even an ounce of humor. With that, Root reanimates, sly smirk curling at the edge of her mouth as she turns her body to face Shaw. Sliding her glasses down her nose with one hand, she looks Shaw over suggestively.

“And just when I thought today  _couldn’t_  get any better,” Root purrs, and Shaw has to force down a smirk of her own.

“Don’t get  _too_  excited,” Shaw tells her flatly. “I’m only here to check in on the two of you.” She peers up towards John at the statement, who looks to be holding back a laugh at her attire. Narrowing her eyes at him, Shaw’s smoldering gaze returns to Root.

“Why the uniform?” Root asks, grin widening as she looks Shaw over again. At the mere intensity of the gaze, Shaw can feel her ears growing hot.

“Like you said in the car,” Shaw responds, remaining unfazed as Root’s eyes light up.  _The only person I know who_ enjoys _being listened in on_. “Customers and staff can get the closest to our guy. I’m staff.”

“Not very good at it,” John comments, head nodding towards Root, who still drips with spilled alcohol.

“It’s my first day,” Shaw retorts defensively, tongue rolling across her teeth.

“ _And_  your last,” John cracks under his breath, and Shaw considers throwing the glass at his head.

“Is there a problem here?” Shaw’s hand encircles the handle of her gun as the booming voice in her ear takes her by surprise. Wheeling around on one heel, she finds herself looking directly up at their number, ever present smile on his face.

“I, uh, spilled my drink on myself,” Root responds sheepishly, giving him a tentative smile. “ _Sam_  here offered to grab me a towel.” Joseph beams at the words, obviously proud of his new star employee.

“ _And_  a new drink, ma'am. Isn’t that  _right_ , Sameen?” Joseph asks her, eyes boring into her soul. She peers back over at Root, who looks at her with patients and humorous eyes.

“You will?” She asks innocently, loving every second of Shaw’s utter loathing.  _Yeah_ , Shaw’s eyes scream.  _A whole glass full of watered-down cyanide should do it._

Lip drawing up in an uncontrollable sneer, eyes murderous, Shaw answers. “Yes,  _ma'am_.”

___________\  A Weekend with the Man in the Suit /___________

Root wraps herself in a large, white towel, then wipes the fog from the bathroom mirror. Grabbing a brush off the sink, she begins running it through her hair, trying to plan out the rest of the day. They still hadn’t found any threat to Joseph DeRouge- only that he mysteriously took money from certain people periodically throughout the day, only to slip it into one of the lobby mailboxes. She’d watched that spot from one to three, pretending to read a magazine, but no one had shown up for it. Finally, John relieved her of her post, and she decided to grab a shower. Time seemed to melt away under the heat of the water, along with all of her stress. However, as the heat dissipates and escapes under the door, her worrisome thoughts return.

 _Like how Shaw is here,_  she starts, the list coming back to her.  _How much danger she’s in. How exposed she is for being alone in the resort. How she oh so conveniently doesn’t have her earwig turned on._ Grabbing her phone, Root dials Shaw’s number.

No answer.

She finishes up in the bathroom, then drifts out into the medium sized suit, complete with rose walls and lavender furniture. Not her favorite color combination, but it really doesn’t matter. Taking a seat on the couch, her body sinks right past the cloth, smacking against something that feels like concrete. Shifting slightly, she makes a mental note to let John take the bed tonight.  _His back has to be in shreds from sleeping on this thing._ Unlocking her phone, she debates upon calling Shaw again. She sends John a message instead.

ME: Any action?

JOHN: Not unless you count the Couple’s Bingo Tournament.

There’s a knock on the door, and- after peering that way curiously- she places her phone down on the table.

“Who is it?” She calls, keeping the suspicion from her tone, all the while grabbing a handgun from the hallway’s nightstand as she slowly approaches.

“ _Housekeeping_ ,” a familiar voice responds sourly, and a wide grin overthrows Root’s features. Fighting it down to a medium-level smile, Root pulls open the door and leans against the door frame.

“ _That’s_  a dangerous way to start a conversation,” Root warns playfully. “Don’t you think?” Shaw rolls her eyes, ears turning just a shade pinker as she gives Root a cross glare. Root pays no mind to it, eyes spilling over with affection. She sees Shaw look her over quickly, then bring her full gaze directly to Root’s face.

“You plan on putting  _clothes_  on anytime soon?” Shaw spits, slightly flustered, and Root takes a quick glance down at the towel before smirking.

“Depends,” she responds slightly. Shaw’s ears go from delaine to foxen.

“On  _what_ ,” she demands tightly between clenched teeth. Root can feel the butterflies as they trickle into her stomach, spreading their wings and traveling towards her heart.

“Why  _you’re_  here.”

Shaw’s ears go from foxen to a watered-down scarlet. “I  _told_  you,” she responds, hostility her best form of defense. “I got put on housekeeping duty.”

“I didn’t have a sign on the door,” Root shoots back, smile widening as she pins Shaw to the spot. Shaw’s eyes narrow to venomous slits.

“Well then, today’s your lucky day,  _isn’t_  it,” she seethes in a quiet but biting voice. “Now. Can I come  _in_?” Root looks her over once more, taking in everything from her shoes to her dress to the anger steaming out her eyes. Still, she decides she hasn’t played with Shaw enough yet.  _You followed me here_ , Root thinks, thought projecting through her eyes.  _You brought this on yourself._

“Sure,” Root answers, opening the door a little wider. Shaw takes a step forward. “But  _only_  if you tell me why you’re  _really_  here.” Shaw’s mouth presses together in a tight knot, fingers curling into fits, then unclenching as if ready to strangle her to death. Her eyes scream and her nose flares.

“Why the hell do you  _think_  I’m here,” Shaw retorts.  _Wrong response_ , Root’s eyes sing gleefully as she raises one eyebrow, grin making coy look modest.

“I could come up with a  _few_  things,” Root coos. Shaw’s ears go from scarlet to entirely cyanotic. Finally, Shaw can take it no longer. She shoves her way past Root, leaving the cleaning cart outside. Root stays still a minute, merely listening to Shaw as she stomps angrily into the heart of the hotel room, then closes the door.

“Is John here?” Shaw asks, all previous anger gone entirely.

“You worried?” Root responds, winning an eye roll from Shaw.

“Hardly,” she answers, taking one last look around.  _Empty_. Bringing her gaze back to Root, Root is taken aback by the stern seriousness of Shaw’s eyes. “Why did you ask him to come here.”

“What?” Root asks, keeping her tone nonchalant.

“Instead of me. Why couldn’t I come?”

“You drove  _all_  the way out here to ask me something a  _phone call_  could have answered?” Root counters, hoping to annoy Shaw off the topic. She holds firm.

“That’s not the point; now answer me.” They stare at each other a moment, neither one of them moving even a muscle. Root doubts if they’re even breathing. Her phone vibrates on the table, but they don’t bother to check it.

“It doesn’t matter,” Root sighs out at last, turning away from Shaw and heading towards her suitcase. “You showed up anyway.”

“Yeah,” Shaw replies angrily, “as a  _waitress_.”

“Would you rather’ve been my  _date_?” Root responds defensively, not realizing the words until they are already gone. Instantly, she wants to take them back. Or does she? A silence sits between them, interrupted only by a few buzzes from Root’s phone. Unable to stand it any longer, Root turns to look at her, waiting for a response.

“No,” Shaw replies slowly, the heat of the conversation reduced back to zero. Root’s phone all but has a seizure on the table, and Shaw swipes it up, pressing the speaker button with bone-cracking force.

“ _What_ ,” she spits into the receiver, eyes never leaving Root’s.

“Can y- hey, wait.  _Shaw_?” From the background, both women can hear fighting. Glass breaking. Someone screaming.

“What’s going on down there?” Root asks, stepping back towards the phone.

“Not sure yet,” he replies, voice winded. Something hits him, and he wheezes. “Could use your help though.”

“We’re on our way,” Shaw responds, then hangs up. Root is already half-way to the door.

“Stay here,” Root tells her, one hand on the door knob. Shaw grabs her other, yanking her back around.

“Why should  _I_  stay?” She retorts. “ _You’re_  the one who isn’t dressed.” Root swears under her breath, trying to figure out a plan. _I can’t let Shaw get into trouble. I can’t leave John alone._

“I’ll figure something out,” Root says with the shake of her head, pulling the door upon wide. “Just. Stay. Put.”

With that, she takes off down the hall. Bare feet barely making a sound as she bolts towards the stair case. She is beyond irritated to hear Shaw’s footsteps only half a beat behind.

“I told you to  _stay_  there,” Root spits irritably, grabbing a robe from a wrack in the hallway. She throws it on, ties the waistband, then lets the towel drop from under her impromptu attire. “I don’t need you getting hurt.”

“Is  _that_  what this is about?” Shaw asks, something like relief in her tone as they dash down the stairs. “You brought him here to keep  _me_  safe?” There is a silent second as Shaw smiles- happy to not be replaced- then an even stronger wave of fury takes its place. “I don’t  _need_  protecting,” she hisses, badgering Root as they spiral down. “I can take care of myself just  _fine_.”

“I don’t have time to argue with you right now,” Root sighs at last, and Shaw gives a triumphant smirk. “But this conversation is  _not_  over.”

Bursting into the lobby, they find it littered with moaning men, most of which are holding their kneecaps. John Reese staggers to his feet, mouth and nose spilling blood, and right eye already starting to swell shut.

“I hate vacations,” he mutters to them, voice slurred with his split lip, all the while his breathing in heavy and labored. From behind the desk, Joseph stands, large semi-automatic in hand as he aims it towards John’s back.

Four rounds fire off- two from Root and two from Shaw- and he drops out of sight. John peers over his shoulder, then back to them. At the same time, Shaw smug and Root thoroughly ticked off, they say a simultaneous, “You’re welcome.”


End file.
